


Bad Wolf, Good Wolf

by retorica



Category: Sicario (2015)
Genre: F/M, Older Man/Younger Woman, hitman - Freeform, twisted bond
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-09
Updated: 2016-12-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 15:24:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4966159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/retorica/pseuds/retorica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I made you my girl. I didn't mean that." "Yes, you did." Kate/Alejandro.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Kate dreamt that she was a wolf, and that her snout was filled with blood.

She dreamt that she prowled through the streets and ripped out the throats of every innocent child and woman in sight. She always woke up drenched in sweat, bile in her throat. 

 _This is the lands of wolves now_ , he had said, _and you are not a wolf._

But she was, in her dreams.

 

Depression, the afternoon shadow, always crept up on her in the middle of some mind-numbing desk job. She would glance at Reggie and smile while her insides shredded themselves to pieces. Maybe her smile was fractured, because Reggie only looked worried. 

She had tried, in her mind, to quit. Quit the FBI and abide Alejandro's good advice. _Move to a small town._

She never got past opening her mouth and saying, "I q..."

She wasn't built like that, she wasn't built of fugues. She was a solid rock, the kind that warms up in the sun. She wasn't going anywhere, because rocks don't move.

Was she a wolf or a rock?

 

What happened was simple. Matt took her off his extremely classified task force, for which she was grateful. Grateful, but also hateful. He was scum, tolerable, yet plain scum. 

The problem was, his removal put a dent in her record. And she had to move back five pieces. Her superiors no longer thought she could work well under pressure. They thought she needed a break, something to get her back up on that horse. That's how she found herself doing so much paper work her eyes became blurred. She wondered, sometimes, if it was worth even breathing, which was a really dangerous thought.

Kate was not suicidal, it's just that she had little left to breathe for. Her integrity - that old piece of rotten metal - had faded into obscurity. 

She was alone.

 

It was better this way, in the end. She came home from work at a reasonable hour and even had time to microwave the take-out lasagna. She had time for a bath too. No more meager showers. These were quiet actions, done with the foreknowledge that they meant nothing and harmed no one - and there was a release in that.

The blood on her snout still smelled fresh. 

It was inexplicable - why should _she_ feel guilty for what Alejandro had done? Didn't she know that was a sure path to destruction?

She did.

 

The days had a way of repeating themselves, until it was Tuesday and she had to ask Reggie if they got to leave early today because it was a Friday. 

"Okay, intervention time," Reggie decided. "We're going out dancing."

 

Kate hadn't danced since - since that man had put his hands around her throat and squeezed with all his might.  She remembered that night vividly, as well as Alejandro's timed arrival. Looking back on it, she knew there had been nothing chivalrous or heroic about his rescue. He had been tracking her, had perhaps even hoped this would happen, so that he might worm his way into her private state of mind and make her trust him, make her question _herself_ , rather than him.

 _Joke's on him_ , she thought bleakly. _I questioned myself before. Now I don't. I don't anymore._

She watched Reggie dance with a pretty girl and she smiled in her beer. She had barely touched it, but it felt impolite to sit there, dry and sober. At least make an attempt, Kate.

She looked around the bar with a lazy eye and caught several shadows, movements of light, nothing more. But they spoke to her in an intimate way and she was drawn to them, despite her better judgement.

 

She checked the rest room before going inside a stall to relieve herself.

She didn't check hard enough. She had really stopped questioning herself. Too bad.

When they took her, she barely had time to scream.

She only had memories of a struggle and an ugly bruise on her jaw. 

And there had been words too. Words she had almost captured, mid-consciousness. 

"Es ella. La chica de Alejandro."

_Alejandro's girl._


	2. Chapter 2

_Delirium tremens_. It's what her mother suffered from every Monday morning when she had to go to work.

Quick alcohol withdrawal. First came the heavy headaches, then the shaking and sweating and erratic heartbeat. Sometimes her mother saw things. She'd moan into her hands about white fat worms on the kitchen floor. Hallucinations, Kate later learned, were another symptom. 

When her mother died, _delirium tremens_ seemed to die with her.

But now - it was here, it was alive in her bones. She was her mother's daughter, except she had drunk very little at the bar.

Gradually, she realized what was happening. They kept giving her the bottle to drink and Kate obeyed, because her thirst was unquenchable. The liquor was clean and clear and so, it was easy to fool yourself, if you were half-conscious, like her. 

The motion was patented. They'd fill her up, then they'd cut her off and let her lie on the cold floor, which was worse. _Delirium tremens._  

 

They didn't let her sleep, either. Kept waking her up, every now and then. Gentle at first, harsh later. 

In the back of her mind, her mother wailed, but a more convincing voice - her own, soon emerged. She was reading from a textbook. She was revising for an exam. The facts were printed in bullet points on the page. 

Different types of torture. _Slow alcohol poisoning. Sleep deprivation. ...What comes next?_

 

It was slightly perverse, and they knew it. Kate had read extensively on these methods, but had never experienced them on her skin. Maybe the FBI should train their agents in this regard too. Maybe they should be immune to their own evil. 

She didn't cry, mostly because any loss of water was detrimental to her body. But she knew enough not to be cocky or resilient. She begged and played nice and stayed put. 

They had kicked her around for a bit in the beginning, mostly in the guts, but they had left her face intact.

They were saving her for something, otherwise she wouldn't be able to stand up and walk to relieve herself in the corner of the room. 

 

Her thoughts were dry, concrete. People in shock don't have much to say. It might seem cruel or cold, but your body goes on auto-pilot. The need is right in front of you and you focus on the immediate. The past and the future become fantasy scenarios that do not concern you. 

She was like that, she was a rock. 

There _was_ one thing she wanted to say. One howl she would've liked to give. _"You've got the wrong girl!"_

She tried, a couple of times, when a random face came to see her, to tell them the truth. For their own good, really. 

"He...won't - he won't." _He won't come.  You want revenge, but he won't come._

They never listened. 

 

Keeping time was important. The very first thing they told you in hostage training was the importance of time measurement. As long as you kept track of some temporal pattern, you might be saved. So she tried. 

But it was all a make-believe. It might've been three days. It might've been three weeks.

She was developing some sores along the skin of her arms. _Malnourishment_? Could be, although signs pointed to a hygiene problem, more than likely. Immune system was also getting rampaged. 

If she came down with the common flu, she might die. 

On that third day - or week - they came with a water hose. _Water torture. That's what comes next._

 

Kate woke up to find herself naked. She was tied to a chair. The rope cut through the skin of her breasts.

But she couldn't feel too bad about that. Because she was finally out of the dark. Down in the basement, that's where they'd kept her.  But here, everything was levelled and smooth and there was light. Sunlight, even. 

Her eyes took a while to get used to the brilliance. She was sitting on a terrace. All around her, a resplendent garden. In front of her, a table set up for a feast. There was a whirling fountain too, in the middle of the greenery. The mansion in the background was savagely luxurious. An opulence that bit you and left you mangled.

She saw dark figures posted in all corners, wielding guns, faces veiled in heavy masks. This was a sacred place, a guarded place.

She counted her exits, measured her chance of escape, another mindless academy exercise. It was more to keep herself from trembling than anything.

They wanted her to feel her nakedness, and she was going to oblige them, because she was _fucking_ cold and afraid, but another neat little trick in hostage training taught you to cling to the so-called good things. So, being outside? Breathing some fresh air? All good. 

"I'd invite you to share a drink with me but I hear you've had a few already."

She couldn't turn her head all the way, but she didn't have to. The man - young, mid-30s perhaps, heavy Spanish accent - sat down at the other end of the table. 

He had the features of a small dog, bred for blood. For such a prime age, he already sported jowls, but his eyes were warm. Yellow eyes, the kind that seemed to hold no grudge. Merely business. 

The silence stretched between them. He stared at her breasts clinically. 

"Y-You're wasting your time with me," she spoke through parched lips. 

"Am I?"

"He won't come." 

"Who is he?" the man asked, smiling benevolently.

"El Sicario." She'd never said it before. Might as well start now. 

The man's smile broadened. "You know much of him?"

"I know that - his sole purpose was revenge. He got it. He's gone."

"Mm. You know...we're standing on that revenge. This is the place where he shot Fausto, his _mujer_ and his  _chiquititos._ Right here, at this table."

Kate blinked. The gentle afternoon light and the fountain and the quiet sanctity of this ethereal place all seemed to confirm his words. Bile rose in her mouth.

"Yes, the children too. _Bam_ , _bam_ ," the man punctuated, pointing his fingers in the shape of a gun at two invisible seats next to her. 

A cold sweat broke on her upper lip. 

"I'm sorry," she mumbled stupidly. 

The man drew back, placing an elbow on the back of his chair.

"Sorry? _You're_ sorry?"

Kate swallowed thickly and forced herself to speak. "It was our fault. We let him loose. But we - I never condoned this."

His laughter made her jump. 

"They were right about you. By the book. Bisoña. _Rookie_ ," he teased, showing a row of whitened teeth. 

She waited for him to finish.

"I never condoned this. And he knew it. I tried to stop him..."

He poured himself a glass of malt and stirred its contents pensively. "Yes, yes. You are good cop. Good intentions. Clean hands. That it?"

Kate felt herself losing this conversation, if there was anything left to win or lose.

"I'm not his girl," she mumbled finally, exhausted. 

"That's where you're wrong," the man grinned. "You put _your_ name on a piece of paper. And you said everything he did was legal, didn't you?"

Kate looked down at the marble floor. The tiles were cut in strange, irregular shapes. One could grow dizzy just looking at them. Her mother had seen worms. What would she see?

She didn't want to cry.  She had managed without crying for a while now.   _Stay as hydrated as you fucking can._

But this was something you had to cry about, to keep sane.

"Didn't you?" he repeated slyly. 

"Yes." _He made me do it. I swear, he made me._

_No._

_No, I had a choice._

This was the worst torture. It didn't touch you, it left your skin intact. You were even given a seat at the table. In exchange, you had to look down into your dirty ledger. And find that you were rotten.

"I didn't want to," she tried to explain. But it was a good trap. The further she excused herself, the more vile she came out at the end. 

"And then Alejandro took care of you, in case your name ever got in trouble," the man went on, ignoring her. "Seems like a sweet deal to me."

Kate looked at him. "Deal?"

The man rose his glass in the sunlight. The amber glowed sinisterly.

"He works alone," she spoke feverishly. "He doesn't - he doesn't give a shit about the rest. I told you, you got the wrong girl."

There was silence again and time to contemplate her next words. She might sway him if she promised prosecution immunity, but at what cost? And how could her word weigh against the bureau's? 

"Lone wolves are like _cuentos de hadas_. You know, fairy tales?" he asked, tilting his head forward. "They're made up. Wolves have packs. Dogs have bitches."

Kate licked her ravaged lips. "I don't -"

"Best men in this business, could be stone-cold _matadors,_ could be fucking _sicarios._ Fancy names for the same bullshit. But I tell you, each and every one of them has a Kate Macer."

Kate felt it, the insinuating terror rising from her chest to her throat.  Soon, she'd relieve herself in front of him. 

"Man who kills for wife and daughter, finds another wife and daughter..."

She closed her eyes, shaking her head forcefully. 

"He just as good painted a target on your head. Kind of him to do our job for us. He put men to watch you at home, men to watch you at work. You got to sit at your desk and just write papers, yes?"

_No. No, it was Matt who demoted me - there are no men watching me - **No**._

"Don't be too angry. He just wanted to protect you. His girl. You know how it is," the man finished with a dazzling grin. 

No, she didn't know. She _didn't_. Alejandro had got what he had wanted. Why the hell would he have done this for her - _to_ her? 

"So, you see, I'm not wasting my time," the man concluded victoriously. "I'm waiting for him to come get his girl." 

Kate knew she wouldn't change his mind anymore. Not about this. But she'd be damned if she believed him. Alejandro wouldn't have done this, he wouldn't have kept tabs on her. He had got her signature, he had got his revenge. 

What else did he want? 

Her heart lurched. She was afraid that he _would_ come and get her. And that she'd find out. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to everyone for the kudos and the comments! I have some big plans for the fic so stay tuned!


	3. Chapter 3

_This is the place where he shot Fausto, his mujer and his chiquititos. Right here, at this table._

It was one sentence, but it could yield so many images, a thousand worlds. She looked at it from different angles, just like she'd been taught.

One time, she was the wife. She was beautiful and her body was strong and healthy, her teeth were white, her smile, a frightened blur. The woman should have never given him children. Now, she could only stare at the carnage like a shrieking wax figure.

Another time, she was Fausto,  a walking panther, breathing hard, releasing hate through each pore. He never believed it until the last second, never thought the shooter would aim that gun at anyone but him. 

More often, she was the children. Their fear must have been a blind instinct. They couldn't have known it was their last meal. She slept inside their little bodies, fell down when they fell. Rose from sleep - but they didn't rise with her. 

She was never Alejandro.

 

He had killed children. 

Children died every day, they were the first to die, in fact. There was even something mundane about infant death. She remembered little chicks on her uncle's farm. If you held them a bit too tight, you'd wring their necks or simply  _squish_  the life out of them. She didn't just remember. She had done it once, by accident. She had cried for days. Looking back on it, her tears had been a forced exercise. She had felt like shit, but she had cried out of politeness, out of some sense of right.

So now, she didn't cry. Because she just felt like shit.

 

But he had killed children. And that meant that Fausto's boys had not been the first. You either wring one baby chick's neck, or you start your own chicken factory. It's neither here not there. He had killed children before. Many of them, probably. 

 

So now, lying on the hard floor with her head against the wall, she thought about killing men who killed children. She hadn't pulled the trigger on the balcony. Secretly, she had been relieved to watch him go, had been relieved that his life was more powerful than hers. But that relief was gone. This was no longer an option. This was no longer something she could deposit in the back of her head, to let it lie. This was duty. She had to kill Alejandro. 

 

* * *

 

Something had not gone according to plan; otherwise, she would not be sprawled on the cherry wood table, head crushed under a heavy, sweaty palm. The best she could guess was that Alejandro had not taken the bait, after all.

_I told you. I told you he wouldn't come. You naive assholes._

She had once been a naive asshole, she should know.

The palm squeezed harder, until she could feel the pulsations travel into her mouth. The man grabbed her chin and slammed it down. She tasted blood. 

The other hand grabbed her breast and wrenched it painfully, until she shrieked in agony. He sported a scar on his wrist, which scratched at her skin like a dull blade.  

She closed her eyes, trying to diffuse the reality around her, make it as thin as a dream, but she was not afforded this luxury. Another pair of hands pried her eyelids open. 

She looked up into the yellow eyes of the man on the terrace. The small dog, bred for blood. 

"Tu nombre should be _Elena_ instead of Kate."

 She raised her elbow desperately and shoved it into the thick neck of the man with a scar on his wrist. He was momentarily caught off-guard and Kate made a reckless effort to skid off the table, but the one with the yellow eyes - the _really_ terrifying one - laughed and sank his nails into her hair, tugging at it until she rolled on her back like a helpless cockroach. 

 _Stupid_. She had told herself countless times not to give them a reason to hurt her. Why had she gone and done that?

 " _Elena de Troya_ , tú la conoces?" he went on, as if there'd been no interruption.

He seemed to expect an answer. She nodded her head weakly.

"Everybody wanted _la concha de esa puta._  Me, I don't see anything special about it, but I'm gonna try it out anyway."

Kate didn't need to figure out what "concha" meant. Her eyes widened. Panic flooded every pore of her skin and filled her mouth with ash. She was suddenly all too aware of his nails against her scalp. 

"You were right, _Elena_. He didn't come. But you know who did? The fucking Medellin cartel." 

He forced her head sideways and made her look up at the television set above the chimney. 

The news reel was full of color and sound and she had trouble making out the quick and heavy Spanish. Even more trouble focusing on the grimy images. But she heard the word "guerra" which she knew meant war. And then " _una nueva guerra entre_ _los dos cárteles_ ". She felt like she was back in high school and she was piecing a rookie syntax under the disapproving scrutiny of her Spanish teacher. She had been pretty good at German, but Spanish she had never conquered. She didn't know why she would pick this moment to remember that.  

_ A new war between the two cartels. _

The images of strung-up bodies, fresh as ever, dotted the screen like excerpts of a genocide. They were too bright, too big, too clear. Carved meat displayed with anger on the streets. Except, when she had driven through Juarez, she had not been a part of that carnage. Now, those bodies were up there because - 

_ " _ Alejandro got out the artillery for you _ , querida." _

Kate shook her head, even though every move only made his fingers more painful on her scalp.

"N-No. _No_. Don't pin this on -" 

"You? Are you going to cry, _Elena_? Are you going to kick and scream and say it wasn't you?"

"It wasn't me!" she shouted hoarsely, not even caring that she was falling into a trap, that losing her head was the worst thing she could do. 

The man with yellow eyes loved to laugh, so he laughed again. "It wasn't me, either. But we all pay for things we haven't done."

Kate looked up at him with pleading eyes. She was sickened by her own terror. But something had grown inside her ever since Alejandro. The pragmatism of someone without dignity, without decency. 

"I'll help you," she spoke feverishly. "I'll help you catch him. I'll help you fight the Medellin cartel, I'll help you kill him, I know how to do it, just _please_ -"

 

"Ohooo, won't he be sad to learn his girl wants to kill him."

"I'm not his fucking -"

He gripped her mouth and spread her lips open, inserting two fingers inside.

"This is how easy it is, _Elena_. To make someone yours."

His face was now inches from hers and Kate couldn't breathe. She didn't even dare bite his fingers. She tasted the salt on his skin.

"The Medellin wants their blood hound to be happy. But I want him to pout. Will you _help_ me?" he asked with biting irony, throwing back her previous offer. It felt like spit. 

He raised his head and made a small gesture to the man with a scar on his wrist. He held her down and spread her legs. His cold hands roved up her thighs. 

Kate felt a white light hitting her between the eyes.  She couldn't stay awake for this, _wouldn't_. Strange and perplexing how she kept thinking of those little chicks on the farm. She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

There was a shot, somewhere in the distance. No, it was very close. So close that the tinnitus in her ears felt like a battle cry.  

Blood was spattered across her breasts. The drops slid down between her legs, warm and slick. Kate gasped, but she felt no incision. 

Beside her head was a new head. A fallen head with yellow eyes. Blood was oozing out of his skull.

The man with a scar on his wrist gathered her up and pulled her over his shoulder.

He was speaking to her but she couldn't make out the words. Her ears were still ringing.

"Hear me?!" he bellowed. "Coming with me!"

The white light hit her between the eyes and she let herself fall. 

 

The woman at her bedside was old and her face was brown and smooth and wise. She looked younger than her age, but her eyes betrayed her.  Kate always liked to look into people's eyes. She clung to this friendly face and the laugh lines around her mouth.

The woman was washing her body down with a coarse, but cool piece of cloth. 

_She's taking care of me._

A comforting thought. 

Was she in the hospital? No, the room looked like a dilapidated shack. She smelled something clinical, like urine and blood and chlorine. She was about to ask the woman, when she felt a sting between her legs and when her eyes traveled down, she saw the black mess on the sheets.

 

Kate howled and tried to raise herself, but the woman pushed her back on the bed.

"Get the hell away from me!" 

She was weak in the bones and her head was swimming, but it took all the woman's strength to hold her down. 

"Quidado! Es sólo el menstruo. Sólo el menstruo!" she begged in a shrill voice. 

_El menstruo_. _Why is it a he?_

A woman's menses were owned by a man. Kate thought this was the kind of thing Reggie would harp on relentlessly, and she dipped her head back and laughed like a maniac for a solid minute.

The old woman only stared at her, speechless.

 

When she woke again, the old woman was gone and so was the provincial room and the smell of piss. Kate felt a sense of loss - ridiculous, yet potent.  

She was dressed in a soft and silky night-gown, the kind you saw in shop windows and decided was in bad taste. She raised her arm slowly and watched as the fabric cascaded down her elbow. It was embroidered with large, luxuriant sun-flowers. Expensive and horrible and just _right_. 

 

 

The bed was ghastly too. Huge and sprawling, the bedpost inlaid with small gems. They glittered in the low light of dusk like watchful eyes. The room filled itself up with sordid affluence. A tiny chandelier swiveled precariously above her head. 

She hummed under her breath, just to hear her voice again. She was lying in a silent tomb and above all else, she needed to know that she was still alive. 

It all felt like a bizarre dream she would wake up from soon. Maybe right now she was drooling all over Reggie's shoulder as he drove her back to her apartment, after a night of "dancing". 

The bruises itched, however. She couldn't ignore those. And she remembered the chicks on the farm, the children at the table and the corpses hung in her name.

"You're awake."

She hadn't seen him. She hadn't even felt him. Kate cursed under her breath. The ground should have shifted. There should've been a ripple in the air. But that was the most terrifying thing about Alejandro. He could inhabit any shadow. 

Goosebumps rose on her flesh and her breath hitched in her throat.

"Don't do that," she mumbled, more muted than she would've liked. But it was hard to speak in this room. 

"Do what?"

"Scare me like that."

The words hovered between them, a wealth of meaning behind the charged utterance. It seemed to distill the very core of their relationship. Even if maybe there was no relationship. 

He rose from his seat in the corner of the room and walked up to the bed. 

Kate took him in like bitter medicine, the kind you have to swallow down by the spoonful. She saw the same compact body that never seemed to unwind or relent. A clumsy, sort of rigid body to anyone else, but she knew better. She knew what it could do. It was a virtue, to walk around like a block of cement, and then become fluid and formless in a single breath.

She saw the same mess of spiky hair that looked like it had been badly cut. But she knew better than that too.

People betray themselves with their eyes. Kate always looked into people's eyes. But there was nothing there for him.

No. If he showed anything, it was in his hands. They gripped the bedpost, obscuring the gems. 

He wasn't going to say something until she opened her mouth. She knew this game by now. But she was scared in a way that had nothing to do with violence or death, so she screwed her mouth into a brave scowl and she spat the words out like bullets.

"What is this shit?" 

 _Oh, Kate_ , a tiny voice in her head beckoned. _Just the kind of rash, dumb thing a domestic agent would say._  

And _fuck_ , Alejandro actually quirked his lips up in the semblance of a smile. Because this was so fucking routine. Of course she'd let her mouth run like an idiot. 

"Good to see you're still yourself."

"Am I?" she retorted, bunching up the sheets in her fists. 

He cocked his head to the side. "Why didn't you move to a small town like I told you? That was not just some idle suggestion, Kate."

 _Idle suggestion_. His words made her skin crawl, and she didn't let go of the sheets.

"Would you have told your men to stop tracking me?" 

Alejandro mused for a moment. He was deceptively at ease with the conversation.

"No."

"Well, then," she breathed out, kicking her legs away from him. That had the unwarranted effect of hitching up her night-gown, exposing a good chunk of her calves. 

Alejandro's eyes darted down too fast. She couldn't decipher that look. It was - she couldn't put it any other way - _haunted_. Like he had seen ghosts in her flesh.

He removed one hand from the bedpost and reached out with unsteady fingers. Kate thought he was going to pull the cover over her. She gasped when his hand wound gently around her ankle and turned her foot to the side. A large, yellowing bruise ran up her calf and ended somewhere under her thighs. His eyes roamed over it with a father's sickly concern. How else to read that intensity? His thumb started rubbing her ankle softly. Kate hissed under her breath. His touch was gentle, but invasive and cruel. The warmth of it turned her stomach inside out. 

"I'm so tired of being fucking naked," she snapped, wrenching her foot away and covering herself quickly.

Alejandro raised himself and took a step back. 

"I'm sorry about that," he offered blandly, and a little comically. Because fucking _really_?

"You're sorry," she repeated in a stringent tone. "Why am I dressed like this?"

The look he gave her was a fractured mixture of mirth and despair. "Where do you think you are?"

Kate tossed her head to the side and looked at the heavy drapes shrouding the large windows. She couldn't see outside. But if she had to guess...if she had to guess...

"Open the window," she said, tonelessly. _"Please."_

He obeyed her, but he didn't pull the drapes.

Fresh air slowly seeped into the room. She breathed it in hungrily. The room was air-conditioned, but the smell of the outside world was different. She heard insects. Crickets, maybe. Muffled voices in the distance, even laughter. 

"I hope you know you're done. There was no other way."

His words were unapologetic this time, and at first, she barely caught his meaning. She was trying to smell and listen and _live_ in this new world. 

"No other way to what?"

"To get you out of there."

Her eyes snapped back to him. She saw how fucking unrepentant he was. He was tapping his fingers against the bedpost. He wasn't going to say "I didn't want to do it". He wasn't going to. 

But she had to ask anyway.

"What did you do?"

"You know what I did."

Kate's lips trembled and she hated herself for this small give-away, but this was only the beginning.  This was only the starting gesture of abdication. 

"You should've taken a job in a small town, Kate. Now you'll never work for the FBI or anyone else again."

There it was. There it was, clear as day. And she'd probably known since she'd woken up. 

The Medellin cartel had killed in her name. She was a cartel woman now. And she had been dressed and laid down in the place where women like her were kept. 

She leaned her head against the pillow. Her lips were white with rage. 

The worst part was, it didn't matter. If she had done the "right" thing, if she had refused to sign that paper, if she had somehow fought tooth and nail and dug through shit and grime and come out alive - she might still be in this bed, in this room. Under his steady gaze.

She had been removed from everything she had known and it had taken just one mission, one encounter, one afternoon in her apartment. And there he was, staring at her, waiting to see how she'd react. He'd always been lying in wait, feeding on the emotions that plainly showed on her face.

She gave him satisfaction.

"How - how dare you stand there and blame _me_? How fucking -- I could've moved to Mars, it wouldn't have made a difference! _You_ did this to me.  You decided to just take my life and -" She made a wild gesture with her hands. "It wasn't enough for you to stick a gun under my chin."

Alejandro walked around the bed and stood over her, and for a frightened moment, she flinched at the thought that he was going to strike her, but no, his face was lined with severity - none of it directed at her.

"Never flinch at me again." The words rang familiar. _Never point a weapon at me again._

"What am I supposed to do? _Thank_ you?"

"No. That would be worse."

There was a moment of silence that felt _nothing_ like silence. Every single breath was a code, a message, a language, except Kate couldn't keep up. Her eyes flickered desperately across his face, but she had no idea how to go on. This man had killed children. 

And he had probably killed for her. Not probably. He had killed for her.  

He sat down on the edge of the bed, inches away from her.

Kate fought every instinct she had to bolt. _Never flinch at me again._

"When they took you, I thought I should let them kill you. Spare you all of this. Because I knew what would happen. I'd get the Medellin to do what I want," he spoke indifferently, as if he were recounting some unimportant detail from the past. "And there would be no turning back. So, I weighed my options. Save you and take everything away from you, or let you rot away in some basement."

She blinked. "You'd already taken from me." The feeling of his gun under her chin would never truly fade, would never become one of those hazy memories she'd only unearth in moments of complete solitude. It was there still. 

His lips twitched. "See, that's just it, Kate. I'd already made my choice, hadn't I?"

She held his gaze for as long as she could.

"I made you my girl. I didn't mean that." The admission spooked her, not because he'd uttered "my girl" so casually, but because the man with the yellow eyes had been right.

_But I tell you, each and every one of them has a Kate Macer._

"Yes, you did." 

He looked at her for a long moment.

"Yes, I did." 

 

 

_Yes, I did. I killed for you, lied for you, started a war for you._

_And you, Kate Macer, what will you do for me?_

The voice in her dream was not taunting, not prodding, merely asking. Almost as if the answer would set it free.

 _I'll kill you. I'll kill you_ , she said to the dream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kudos and comments! I hope this long-ish chapter delivered!


	4. Chapter 4

_"...I really, really, really, really, really like youuuuu, and I want you, do you want me? Do you want me too?..."_

She had heard this song before. She did not know where or how, but she had, in those days when the radio was on and she wore her aviator glasses perched atop her hair.  _  
_

Several little girls were dancing in a circle by the pool. She was reminded of some old-timey pilgrim tradition. _Maypole dance_. Her brains were scattered.

The water shimmered and trembled under the sun's glare. She saw pink life-jackets floating on the surface, elephant-shaped, with trunks curled up towards the sky. 

Two women in bikinis were sunbathing, sipping from tall milkshake glasses, but there was no milkshake. Only a dark, amber liquid. 

Kate did not feel sick, but she would've liked to empty her stomach, because the copious breakfast she had been served that morning weighed down in her bowels like a barrel of stones. 

"Ei, gringa! No vas a beber con nosotros?" one of them called out cheerfully.

 _I'm not drinking again_ , she thought blindly. But oh, she really wanted to try that amber.

"No. Gracias," she mumbled, leaning precariously against a tall column. They were like ugly mushrooms these columns, sprouting everywhere on the terrace. 

"You sure?" the other one tried again. "You look hot. Not in a good way, lo sabes?" 

She had dressed up warm for this weather. The borrowed jeans and the lanky sweater felt savage on her skin, but there was no way she could stand her body, with or without clothes. 

That damned song again. " _Yeah we could stay alone, you and me, in this temptation, sipping on your lips, hanging on by a thread, baby..."_

 _Sipping on your lips,_ she reflected broodily. _What the hell does that mean?_

One of the little girls jumped into the pool with a loud squeal, splashing water everywhere. The others followed swiftly, but the last one slipped and fell down on her knees. She started wailing tragically - fists clenched in her hair - calling for her mother. 

"Gabriela! Porque lloras, niña?" The bikini on the left rose ceremoniously and a thousand colorful veils followed the curves of her body. "Lucinda! Gabi is hurt, get in here with a band-aid or something!"

The maid or whoever she had called was not coming. Kate approached the little girl warily. She bent down and tried to pry off her little fists. She was pulling on her hair too hard. Kate felt like she understood.

_She's angry and bleeding._

"Here, let me help you," she started.

The  _niña_ screamed as if she'd been bitten by a snake. She didn't like being touched. She rolled away from Kate and ran into the house. A half-moon smear of blood was left in her wake. 

"Nice job," the mother retorted, stopping in front of her with a rueful smile. Kate did not know if the woman was angry or amused. Her breasts, she noticed, were round-shaped quinces, hard and strong underneath the thin bikini. She couldn't look away. There was a scale-like quality to the her skin. No violence could damage it. 

"How the hell did you get with that crazy sicario _,_ gringa? Quiero decir, you must be something special, cos he's a fuckin' bull. And you are like this scared rabbit. I bet if I touch you -"

The woman only had time to raise her hand before Kate's instincts and training kicked in. It was no cat fight. Kate had her immobilized in under a minute. She didn't apply any pressure on the choke-hold, but the woman tried to get out of her grip anyway. And she was _strong_. Kate admired that, admired that these women were beautiful, and bitter and hard. 

But she was not going to be them. Alive or dead, she preferred the rabbit. 

"He's not a bull," Kate rectified, speaking rapidly in her ear. "He's not a bull." Bulls were easy. They charged and fled. Wolves stayed. 

 _"_ _Who gave you eyes like that? Said you could keep them?_  " the song went on. 

 

She was crying in the shower again, like a fucking idiot. Every small thing now was a "fucking" something. The water was too fucking hot, the marble floor too fucking cold, the steam too fucking close, the golden tap too _fucking_ golden....

She was crying with no deliberate purpose. This was the crying that healed, they told you. Just cry for nothing, don't think of a reason, because reasons will bury you. She beat her fists against the wall and let her forehead soak up the steam. The motions seemed silly when you did them for nothing. But she felt vindicated. The pain in her knuckles was sobering and there was a half-moon smear of blood above her head and she thought of Gabi and, had she found a band-aid?

When the towel wrapped her up like a baby, she leaned into it briefly, wondering if Gabi was wrapped up like this. If anyone ever did this for her. 

Then she yanked it off her back and threw it in his face. 

He used his bare hands instead, and gripped her back. Kate turned her head until she was seeing the dark grey skin of his neck, and smelling that carbon smell of his, bullets and dust. 

"You'll break your fingers," he spoke into her shoulder blades. 

"You'll get wet," she mumbled sardonically, staring at the grey patch of skin. 

"That's all right." He spoke gently, casually, the patient father. His hand enclosed her bleeding fist. 

"Get out so I can shave." 

"Razor blades aren't a good idea either."

"Why? I just wanna be smooth and pretty for you," she mocked. 

Her back hit the wall and wiped the half-moon smear. He was gripping her chin, his shirt plastered to his skin, rubbing against her stomach. 

"You think this is a game. And I can't blame you for that. What you did in the past had rules and rewards. Fun little challenges. You even got more than one shot. In case you missed."

His words were weighted, ponderous, like the clack-clacks of falling stones. He was wet, but he was not. Alejandro seemed to defy the spray of water. He was concrete matter, allowing no other form of life.

"Now, you have no rules, no rewards, no shots. You only got me."

Kate breathed hard through the steam. She tried to focus on those dead eyes, because they never gave anything away and there was almost comfort in that void. 

"You only got me."

"Is that what you wanted from the start?" she demanded ruthlessly. Let's cut through the pretty talk. Because he was the husband now. Impatient, not gentle.

He gripped her chin tighter.

"You wanted me to get to this point, where I only have you?" she repeated.

Alejandro chuckled, but his lips barely moved. Only a short release of air, sickly warm.

"Better check that wild imagination, Kate."

"Did you point your finger on the file and said to him, yeah, she'll do nicely, Matt?" 

His hand was at her throat and he was squeezing it. Kate rolled her eyes to the ceiling. It was not a measured reaction. It was a trigger, a memory of another night and another hand on her windpipe. He had _saved_ her, the fucking bastard. Why the hell was he reminding her? The fucking cunt. The absolute shit.

"You - made - me - your - girl - remember?" she mouthed, gasping for breath. 

He eased the grip on her throat and his fingers tickled the sensitive hollows under her ears. She blurted out the words in quick succession, afraid that he'd silence her for good. "The moment _you_ chose the domestic agents - the moment you chose me- you decided.  Didn't you?"

The water kept pouring down on both of them, and she was soaked to the bone, but his bones were dry and sharp. She felt them on her skin, maybe even inside her. 

 

"You're the reason I got the job. You wanted me. From the fucking start."

Alejandro stepped away from her. He blinked the water out of his eyes. 

_Lost a wife and a kid so you thought, I deserve her, I deserve this one, didn't you?_

She didn't say it, though. It would have hurt too much and God knows why, she didn't want to bring up his ghosts. Not when hers were close-by.

"Well," she exhaled. "Here I am. All fucking yours. Your girl. Now let me fucking shave."

He did. He left her to break her fingers and cut her legs. 

 

Later, alive but wounded, she slept in the queen-sized bed on Egyptian cotton sheets. He came into the room, bent down and stood like that for a full minute. Then he kissed her on the lips. Just once.

A dry kiss, while she was sleeping. 

 

She wasn't really sleeping. She was thinking of his weakness. She was thinking of his death. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your comments and kudos, they really fuel this story.


	5. Chapter 5

He took her out for a drive.

It was a simple exercise, not of trust or friendship. Certainly not companionship.

He took her out for a drive because she had been cooped up in the house - in that chandelier bedroom - for a week. And she looked like she was suffocating. Then again, Kate had always had the face of a drowning man. 

He drove while she looked out the window. Behind them, two black SUVs drifted placidly on their left and right. They all formed a peculiar, black triangle. 

"Where are we going?"

"I want to show you something."

 

It was an abandoned building. Grass roots had sliced up the bricks, ferns and vines sprang around every entrance, and there was yellow dust on the windows. It stood out like a thumb in the middle of an empty field. 

Kate wanted to stay inside the car. She sensed there was something intrinsically wrong about the place.

Alejandro shook his head lightly. "Nothing to fear."

"I'm not afraid. I just don't want to go."

"I need to show you something."

His voice did not insist, but his hands, as usual, spoke more for him. They ran up and down the steering wheel impatiently. She snapped the door open and pulled her feet down. 

They walked towards the abandoned building.

Taking a closer look, she could surmise it had served many functions; warehouse, motel, storing facility, and now...Alejandro's destination. All sorts of identities, until Alejandro decided it should have no identity.

Kate could sympathize.

He took her to the back. He had a crowbar on him and opened up a basement door that was positioned on ground-level, underneath a great clump of ferns. 

There was a heavy lock on it, but Alejandro was determined and nothing ever stayed whole around him.

A black, dank hole stretched down into a stairway passage. 

She remembered the tunnels, when she had been FBI, when she had been dressed in full-gear, when she had tried to take the right turn and then inevitably ended up right in front of Alejandro. Just like here, in the now.

She climbed down into the dank hole. 

 

 

First, a wooden door. Alejandro held a regular, small key. He opened the door and let her see. She stepped into a narrow hallway that was stacked with crates of empty jars and bottles. She looked back at him disoriented. What was she supposed to see? He pointed further up ahead.

This time, a metal door with a panel. This one didn't open with a regular key. You needed to punch in a code. 

He knew the code, big surprise. The corridor was a bit larger now, probably due to the absence of crates.

Another metal door, another code.

Finally, the last matryoshka doll was a sound-proof chamber which housed a plethora of computers, tracking systems, cameras and spotlights.

Kate walked around aimlessly. What was this? Every piece of equipment, and the furniture itself, looked relatively new. There were even some coffee mugs stored in a cupboard above a small sink.

"The FBI like to come down here sometimes. The Medellin make sure the building is secure."

Kate sat down in one of the rolling chairs. It squeaked a little. She put her hands in her lap.

 

"Right. I know the Bureau survives on compromise," she muttered, rubbing off a smudge of dust from one of the desks nearby. She wanted to leave her fingerprints here, recklessly. It didn't matter anymore.

"Yes, but knowing is not seeing. I wanted you to see," he insisted.

Kate breathed out his words from her ears. What did he want from her? Did he expect her to say "we're all hypocrites, anyway"? Ha.  Fat fucking chance.

"You want me to see that the Medellin give the FBI permission to watch, but on their own terms. You want me to see that the cartel keeps its friends close and its enemies closer. Again, this isn't the first time I hear about stuff like this."

Alejandro shook his head. And although he didn't smile, his hands bent into half-circles.

"Have you ever got shot in the leg, Kate?" he asked without preamble.

Kate frowned. "No."

"It's possibly the worst place to get shot. You can get lucky with the ribs, can walk a few feet, draw a few breaths. The shoulders are a breeze if you don't put tension on the bullet area, and even the chest can be tolerated with a good tourniquet. But if you get shot right in the meaty part of the calf, you're done for. You won't get up. You're a lame horse."

"I suppose _you_ did get shot in the leg," she said.

Alejandro smiled with his mouth this time. "Astute. But let me ask you this, Kate. How can you warn a person not to get shot in the leg? How can you make them be careful? You can tell them what I told you now. But they'll forget. They'll forget about their legs. They know they are walking on breakable sticks, but they keep doing it, they keep trusting them."

Kate's lips trembled slightly.

"You know the legs are a shit deal, but you still use them. You still get shot."

She let out an angry breath. "You're questioning why I joined the FBI if I already knew it was a "shit deal"."

"Well...I was just talking about legs," he teased with that husky tempo that only made him sound more dangerous. "But you draw whatever inferences you want."

 _Yes,_ she thought shakily _, everyone knows the system's stinking at the core. Everyone knows about compromise. And I did too. But I thought - what did I think? I thought that there were some things bigger than the FBI kissing the cartels' boots. I thought there was a place I could get to where it would be different -_

She looked around.

This was probably the only place one could get.

"It's not your fault, Kate. It's legs. They're bad, they're getting shot and we need them." 

 

She knew what he was doing. He was playing devil's advocate. Trying to convince her there was no moral path.  Every side was rotten. Justice was unobtainable and, frankly, grotesque. The only thing standing up was this building and the compromise.

 _ **Everyone** is Kate Macer_ , he was saying. _Everyone is trapped in a little box of injustice. The Gods choose **everyone.** No one is left behind. Every individual will receive his or her cage, make no mistake._

 

 

They got back to the car, and drove away. The SUVs followed them symmetrically. Kate had taken one of the coffee mugs. She had dumped it in her bag. Maybe she wanted proof that it was all real.

It was strange, sitting next to Alejandro like this, watching the muscles of his neck contract while he steered, watching the tilt of his chin while he pulled down the visor to protect his eyes. Small, everyday actions. 

"It's not polite to stare, Kate."

She still looked, because she could.  For so long in the past she had looked away. When she had first met him, she had averted her eyes. But now she could stare as much as she wanted.

"Did you really kill Fausto's children?" 

The car did not screech to a halt, nor did the muscles on his neck contract. He kept driving. 

She had been foolish to ask, she knew the answer and asking the question meant she was doubting the answer. But it was clear as day he had done it. The only other question remaining was,

"Did you know you were going to do it?"

This time, Alejandro turned his head towards her. "What?"

"Did you know, going into that house that night...did you know you were going to kill the children?"

He wasn't looking at her, but rather at a point close to her right ear. 

"I don't know."

"You don't know," she echoed with a sunken voice.

"I don't know. I could say yes...I could say no...Ah, the trick, Kate. The trick with people like me is we never know. You think we plan. You think we wait in the dark, coming up with our revenge plot. No, that would make us inefficient. We go into the house and we prefer not to know. It liberates you. Not knowing." 

Kate felt like she was being duped. "But you _wanted_   revenge."

Alejandro pulled up the visor. The sun had gone. "I'm glad."

"What?" she asked dumbly.

"I'm glad you've never felt the need for revenge. Otherwise, you'd know that getting vengeance is a matter of forgetting and covering up your _want._ "

She thought she understood. It wasn't that he spoke in riddles, but he broke through every decent, common sense thing she knew. 

"Maybe I want revenge now," she muttered to herself.

"Then you'd better start hiding that fact," he advised gently. 

 _I want revenge on you_ , she thought blindly.

Suddenly, his hand, the one that was resting on the stick, rose of its own accord, and fell warmly on her palm. He was holding her hand, squeezing it lightly. 

 _I want revenge on you_ , she thought, squeezing back.

She was going to heed this lesson. She was going to learn from what he'd said. She wouldn't plan, she would forget. She would cover her want. And one night, she would step into the house, sit down at his table and quietly point the gun back. Full circle. 

Funny, he rubbed a circle on her knuckles. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all your kudos and comments!


	6. Chapter 6

You could tell the difference between wealth and poverty. 

No, it wasn't the ornate metal gates, the Spanish bowers, water jets sprinkling acres of manicured lawn, SUVs lining up in the driveway. That was hardly wealth. That was merely a smattering of dollars over a stinking corpse. 

If you could hear bullets in the street, if you could smell blood on your doorstep, if you could see the bodies hanging from the bridge all the way from your balcony - you weren't rich.

Yes, maybe you had the best house in town. But you were still inside it. You were quartered in, infested, doomed with the rest of the roaches.

The cartel?

The cartel lived outside boundaries, outside violence. No towns for them. They lived in fortresses of silence. No bullets, no blood, no bodies. You think you've seen the movies. You imagine a mustachio'd man falling like a boulder in a giant swimming pool, spilling corn syrup all over the tiles. But the truth is, you'll never find a more peaceful place than the Medellin haciendas. 

Luxury, Kate learned, was waking up to cicadas, and _only_ cicadas. 

 

 

Well. 

Sometimes, Sicarios disturbed the peace.

Sometimes, men like Alejandro took it upon themselves to shoot down _los jefes_. And then, even the very rich became very common. 

But that was rare.

That happened to the competition. Not to El Medellin. 

 

 

Kate was going to respect their rules of peaceful bliss, she was. 

For a while. 

 

 

"They won't let you train."

Kate scratched at her nose. The skin was peeling off rapidly. No matter how much sun-screen she applied, she was always sore. 

"I'll lose my accuracy if I don't practice. There's a shooting range in town. You're all invited to watch me."

He raised an eyebrow. 

"I'm not an agent anymore. But my skills shouldn't go to waste," she argued, pulling down her straw hat. The sun glare was driving her nuts. She loved nights best.  She could sit outside and feel the cool breeze on her chest and pretend she was somewhere else for a change. 

"If they train you, they expect you to use those skills in their service. I don't think you're quite ready for that."

"But someday I'll be?" she asked sardonically. 

Alejandro dragged on his cigarette. "They _have_ thought about it. But you're not their average ex-Fed. You don't like money all that much, or women, or men, or powder, or diamonds. You're still likely to turn  _justiciera_ if they let you work."

Kate bent down and scooped more ice cubes in her palm. She didn't drop them in her lemonade glass. She popped one straight in her mouth, and the other she started rolling across her neck. 

Alejandro paused, swallowing the smoke and only releasing a thin flume through a gap in his lips. His eyes were fixed on her movements. He watched as melting water fell down her lips. 

"So yeah..." he trailed off. "Waste those skills, _rojita_."

She crunched the ice against her teeth and swallowed. "What did you call me?"

He touched his nose and pointed at her own. "Rojita. You're all red."

Kate smiled ruefully. It wasn't in her habit to smile these days, but she was starting a new life, and it didn't hurt to have a more positive attitude. After all, you got no revenge if you were depressed.

"This _rojita_ still wants to train. Combat. No guns. No weapons. Just you and me. How about it?"

 

 

He slammed her down into the towels. 

She breathed in so much dust she thought she would choke. Sun rays crisscrossed above her head and set the ceiling ablaze. But down there, it was still cool and dry. The cellar was packed with boxes of household items. Mostly towels. Lots and lots of towels. 

The Captain of the Chihuahua base was very fond of a certain brand of Vichy towels. He had stored hundreds of them. Kate's sweat was getting soaked up by at least a dozen. 

They didn't cushion much of her fall, but they were good enough for an old-fashioned wrestling match. 

Alejandro was not much of a wolf in a fight. He moved like a leopard, cat-like, and graceful as he parried her fists. But she wondered if he was giving her the advantage. She wondered if he was holding himself back. 

"Harder," she demanded, when he blocked her leg and threw it back with a light swing. 

He obliged, but only partly. When he pulled her in a headlock, she escaped easily. Too easy. 

His goddamn paternal instincts. His goddamn torch too.  He carried one for her, the sick fuck. 

"Come on," she growled, jumping up on his shoulders and pulling him down with her thighs. He hadn't expected that move - he probably didn't think she knew it, so when he tumbled down, he punched her in the stomach. Hard. 

Kate bit back a moan of pain and held onto him for dear life.

They rolled on the ground for a while, him trying to get back up on his feet, her trying to pay him back for that punch.

"You said - you wanted - harder," he argued, when she split his lip. 

"Yeah, well, don't be a dick," she panted, pinning him down with her knees. 

He could have grabbed one ankle in each hand and thrown her off him but he stood there, under her weight, watching her. As always, his eyes said nothing, left nothing to the imagination. He was a man who probably wanted to fuck her, protect her, lock her up, forget her. All of these things were equal in his eyes. 

His hands, however, squeezed her shoulders. When Kate showed no sign of getting up, those hands slipped past her shoulders, circumvented her elbows, ignored her waist and settled on her thighs.

Why the thighs?

Because they were warm.  Because in a fight, the thighs were warmest. Pulsing blood and flesh and feeling. 

He stroked them lightly, stopping inches away from her ass. He could have reached out and cupped her cheeks, squeeze the flesh until it cracked, but he wasn't interested in that. Her _gringa_ ass was fine, but too small. No. He was stroking her thighs because they were in a room alone, and the sound of his fingers against the fabric of her pants tickled his ears. It was like unwrapping a casserole, a home-cooked meal that smelled like fresh bread. He stroked her thighs and watched her.

Kate bent down until her face was level with his. She ran her thumb nail over his nose, grazing the skin until it turned red.

"There. Now you're _rojito_ too."

One of his hands rubbed the inside of her thigh. The other was clenched into a fist. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all your comments and kudos! They mean a lot to me. I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	7. Chapter 7

She met Gabriela in the hallway one evening. The little girl was playing hide and seek with herself. She was dragging a weather-beaten stuffed crocodile behind her. She'd regularly cover her eyes and count to ten, and then she'd try to find herself. 

It seemed like a terribly sad game to play for a kid, but Gabi was enjoying herself a lot. She laughed out loud every time she turned around a corner and "caught" herself. 

"Hola," Kate said tentatively, approaching her slowly.

The little girl's grin faltered.

" _¿Me recuerdas_?" she tried feebly, hoping she'd gotten the words right. "Kate. _Amiga_. Kate."

The little girl shook her head limply. No, she did not remember a sad woman haunting the halls. Kate could still remember the half-moon smear of blood. 

" _Nosotros_...we saw each other...at the pool... _Agua_..."

Gabi stuck a finger in her mouth and sucked on it languidly, although she was too old for that kind of thing.

" _¿Quieres jugar?_ " Kate asked, smiling widely. Her cheeks stung with the effort.

She waited for several moments, thinking the little girl would just reject her and move on. But Gabi covered her eyes with her palms. _Uno, dos, tres..._

 

An hour later, Kate was soaked in sweat, but happy, briefly. She tickled Gabi's tummy. " _Tu mama? Nos vamos a ella_?"

 

The mother, she found out, was called Catalina. Kate recognized her immediately; the hard breasts, the scented scales of her skin. 

"I remember you," Catalina spoke with a crooked smile. "Crazy _gringa_ from the pool. Almost took my neck off."

She was nursing another drink tonight, but this one wasn't a cocktail. Whiskey, in a square glass. Suddenly, Kate was very thirsty. Catalina hadn't offered her a drink. They were sitting in her private salon. It was surprisingly tasteful. No garish colors, no crystal chandeliers. All soothing pastels. Kate felt stupid for thinking otherwise. 

Gabi was sitting at her mother's dressing table, playing with her perfumes and make-up.

"Don't touch the cigarettes, muñeca," Catalina spoke over her shoulder, but her daughter was hardly listening. She was coloring a piece of paper using a gold-tube lipstick. 

"She's lovely," Kate spoke awkwardly. "You must be very proud -"

"What's your deal?" Catalina queried, staring her straight in the eye. " _¿Eres estéril?"_

"What?" Kate blurted out, not sure if she'd heard her right. _Esteril...._

"You can't have kids?" Catalina clarified cruelly. "That's why you hang around  _mi hijita_?"

Kate felt sick to her stomach. "Can I have a drink?"

Catalina raised an eyebrow. Kate knew that look. The woman didn't think she could handle her liquor, which was about right. But if she was going to talk honest, she needed strong back-up.

"Help yourself. In the cabinet, next to the TV," Catalina instructed.

Kate was almost grateful to find that there was beer in the mini-fridge. She popped open a can and took a large gulp. 

When they were settled back on the sofa, Kate smiled. "Sorry for attacking you that time."

"No problem. We got all kinds here. Lots of _deprimadas_ , if you know what I mean."

"I'm not depressed," Kate interjected, "or sterile, for that matter. Actually, I don't know...I never tried to have kids." She didn't know why she was sharing this with Catalina. She supposed she was building trust.

"Ah, kids are good, but they ruin your body. Gabi _me hizo una mala_."

"But you're still gorgeous," Kate pointed out, taking another large gulp.

Catalina laughed, tossing her head back. Her throat was gleaming with sweat. "You trying to make me like you, Katarina?" 

"Just Kate, actually."

"You know, we've got the same name. Catalina, Katarina. _Pues, no importa_."

Kate nodded, unsure of what she was supposed to say next. Gabi was now rubbing her face with pink blush.

"I'd like to be friends, Catalina."

" _Pero claro._  You found out whose woman I was, didn't you?"

Kate cringed. "I don't know about that. I don't know anyone here. I just feel pretty lonely and I really like your daughter -"

"Tell that _Sicario_ to give you one, then. I'm sure he can get the job done."

Kate pretended to be offended, which came rather easily. _God_ , she couldn't imagine having a squalling brat, having _his_ squalling brat. All pink and clean and soft, swaddled in her arms. Alejandro would kiss the top of her head, and she'd want to cut his throat. 

She was grateful that he was the kind of man who would never entertain such thoughts. 

"I don't want a kid. I just want a friend. I thought you and I could try that," she persisted pathetically.

Catalina chuckled. "You think I'm stupid. You think I'm still sleeping with _El Capitán,_ don't you? Ha. He put a baby in me and moved on, _gringa_."

"Oh... that's -"

"A relief, _créeme_. You don't want to meet him."

Kate bit her lip. That's just the thing. She really did, she really wanted to meet the Captain of the Chihuahua base. More than anything. She knew that if she reached him, she could talk things out with him. Prove to him that she could do more than sit around his haciendas. 

"Why not?" Kate ventured.

"You're not his type. _Jefe_ doesn't go for FBI."

"Former FBI," Kate pointed out.

" _Es lo mismo a él_ ," Catalina shrugged. It was all the same to him. 

Kate drank the rest of her beer. She'd wasted weeks finding out that Catalina and Gabi were his, and now...

_Wait a minute. Gabi. He might still keep tabs on his kid._

"Okay...thanks for the advice, and the drink. I'd still like to be friends, all the same." 

Catalina surveyed her critically. " _Amigas_ , eh?"

"I'd like to hang out with Gabi. Take her off your hands," Kate offered, smiling, stinking of beer. 

_The Captain has to love his kid._

* * *

 

 

She hadn't seen Alejandro in three weeks. He'd left without preamble. He hadn't said where he was going. But she followed the news on the big screens in the foyer. He was on a job. 

She didn't want him to die. Not really. That would have been kind of hollow and pointless. It would have made her life here harder, and it would have taken away the only purpose she still cherished. She almost got angry at night, thinking he might die without her there, standing over him, watching.

Life couldn't be that sardonic, could it? Take away her last pleasure. 

She had not heard he had returned. Otherwise, she would have made sure the little girl was not here... But he walked into her apartments and stumbled upon her and Gabi, tucked together on the couch in front of the big plasma, watching Mexican cartoons together and eating fried jalapeños. 

Gabi did not even deign to look up when the big shadow walked into the room. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the TV. Her favorite show, _Niñas En La Nube_ , kept her rapt with attention. 

"Kati, _mira_!" she cried out happily, pointing at the fluffy yellow clouds on which tiny anthropomorphic flowers jumped and danced.

Kate smiled and tickled her tummy wearily. She got up carefully and tucked the girl back in the comforter.

Alejandro was watching them impassively. He had left his guns at the door, but his hands still smelled of oil. 

Kate signaled for him to follow her in the bedroom.

"Kati, _a dónde vas_?" Gabi asked, distraught.

" _Vuelvo_ ," Kate replied nervously. She wiped her hands on her frayed jeans. 

When the door to the bedroom had been closed, she plumped down on the bed. "So, you're back." 

"Kati?" he asked. 

"It's what she calls me." 

"Can I call you that too?"

"Not if you wanna lose an eye." 

Alejandro coughed and chuckled at the same time, massaging his temples with the heel of his palm. He showed no sign of exhaustion, however. 

"She Catalina's kid?"

Kate nodded stiffly. 

Alejandro waited for her to go on. 

"She's helping me speak Spanish better," she lied smoothly. 

He shook his head. "Now, now. What are you on to, Kate?"

"What do you mean? Can't I make friends? Bad enough I'm stuck here with you for company." She meant to tease him, but it came out gruff and accusatory.  As usual. She was a terrible actor, all around. 

"You don't like kids."

"How do you know that?" she replied briskly. 

Alejandro smiled. "Give me that much credit."

"You don't know anything about that. I happen to like kids fine. And I feel bad for Gabi. Her mom can't always take care of her."

"Is that so. Aren't you magnanimous."  He was mocking her.

"Some of us can be," she countered, walking around him to the window. She always felt like opening it wide when he was in the room. 

But she didn't make it three steps before his hand was around her arm, pulling her gently. 

"Get rid of the kid."

"No. These are my rooms."

"I'm staying the night."

Kate blanked. He never stayed over. They were _his_ quarters, officially, but he never slept here. She didn't know where he spent his nights. 

"What? Why?"

Alejandro shrugged, unraveling little to no tension from his shoulder. "Missed you."

"Bullshit."

He laughed. "Yeah. But indulge me anyway."

Kate looked him over suspiciously. Was he drunk? No, he didn't smell like it. Was he high? He wouldn't compromise himself like that...

He had never touched her like that, had never tried to... She remembered a chaste kiss on the lips when she was asleep, but that had been one time. Weeks, months ago. She swallowed thickly. She had teased him in the shower that he probably wanted her, but that did not mean... He was a man still mourning for his wife and daughter, of course he was fucked up. 

That didn't mean - 

"Oh, and put on some lingerie. The black one from the closet."

"The hell are you- ?"

"Do it or I'll make Gabi cry and she'll never come back to you."

Kate's mouth fell open. 

 

 

The TV was no longer playing  _Niñas En La Nube._ She slipped a sharp nail under her corset and scratched away at the damp place where the lingerie bit into her skin. 

Alejandro was having a drink on the couch. He was relaxing after a day's hard work. Perverse domesticity.

Kate stared up at the ceiling, her legs dangling from the armchair. She felt her breath heavy in her chest. She hated this feeling all around her, like she was being boxed in, like someone was closing in on her. Like he was breathing down her neck.

He wasn't. He was watching from a safe distance. His eyes working their way placidly over each flab of skin, seeing but unseeing. It was all in the hands. His fingers twitched and rubbed the glass whenever she happened to touch the straps of her garters. He loved those fucking things. They looked slick and shiny against her thighs. They itched like hell. But she wore them. Because she understood early on that this was Alejandro's punishment. His punishment for going behind his back.

She had to be careful from now on how she contacted Gabi and Catalina. 

"Walk to the window. Stand in the moonlight," he instructed huskily. 

Kate felt a deep shiver run down the spine, the kind that made you sit still for a moment and count your breaths. She hated him. 

She rose unceremoniously, tripping slightly over a giant stuffed crocodile. Gabi had left it behind. She kicked it out of her way with the stilettos. 

Kate parted the curtains wide. She could see glow-worms in the dark. The distant, pink-tinged horizon.

She leaned half of her body against the cool pane. It was oddly soothing. Her skin was too hot. It was burning from within. She wanted to pull down the straps, strip naked, jump from the balcony and land straight into the pool. A sigh escaped her lips, fogging the window.

The silver-blue light danced across her chest and slid gently between her thighs. For a brief moment, she felt like the moon was calling her, like the moon _wanted_ her. The moon thought she was beautiful. 

She liked being seen by the moon. She liked this sick, twisted game. She craned her neck and leaned forward, waiting, waiting, _waiting_... 

Alejandro's hand gripped the glass hard. She thought she heard a soft chink.

"Good."

The word echoed in her belly, deep and sonorous and terrifying. She remembered his hand on her neck in the shower. She had screamed at him.  _Here I am. All fucking yours. Your girl._  

 She wished she hadn't said that. The girl who cried wolf. 

"How was the job?" she asked out of the blue, breaking the spell. She ran her fingers nervously over the glass pane. 

"It was fine," he answered evenly.

"Landed all your targets?" she pressed on, shifting in her heels. 

"Not all of them..." he answered slowly. "One or two still on the loose."

"They won't last long, I imagine. But you should take care of them, either way." She hoped the message was clear. _Go. Leave._

Alejandro tilted his head. "You know, I was being honest when I said I missed you." 

Kate slipped out of the stilettos. Her toes were throbbing. 

 _You missed having control over me_ , she thought but did not say.

"Can I get out of this thing, then?" she pointed at her corset. 

"You can do whatever you want, Kate," he said, leaning back and downing his glass. 

She blinked, disoriented. Her hand rose to her neck, almost imperceptibly. She felt a wave of heat and hate wash over her. Her thighs rubbed against each other by accident. She felt a cruel sting between her legs. She disentangled herself from the window and walked slowly to the bedroom, never looking back. 

She stripped as soon as the door closed. But she imagined his hands stripping her. She imagined him behind her, ripping the corset apart, pushing her down on the bed. She exhaled and squeezed her eyes shut. 

She'd left the stuffed crocodile in the living room. She'd left it all behind. 

Alejandro did not come in. He didn't stay the night. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your comments and kudos! If you don't remember Gabi and her mom, you can read about them in chapter 4. Hope you enjoyed this chapter (I know I did :d)


	8. Chapter 8

She carried on meeting Gabi, even after Alejandro made it clear it was a bad idea. Perhaps _because_ Alejandro made it clear it was a bad idea. 

Only now, she did it strictly on Gabi's turf. She didn't invite the little girl over. She went wherever _she_ went. The pool, Catalina's comfortable salon, the playing corner set-up behind the summer kitchen. Gabi had built a dollhouse there, or rather, one had been built for her. It looked like a miniature cottage, complete with a porch and a tiny swing that could not really take on Kate's extra-weight. She had to sit and watch Gabi swing. She didn't mind. The dollhouse was furnished inside with chairs and a table, but the rest of it didn't resemble a regular dollhouse. There were all kinds of objects scattered around without purpose. Stuff like plastic cups and bead necklaces and empty cigarette packs and sour-smelling cartons of milk. It was more a junk-house than anything. But Gabi patiently explained that the objects she brought here were _extremely_ precious to her. Their value was not apparent, but their meaning was important. 

Kate was honored that she had become one such object that Gabi would consider bringing to the dollhouse. 

Only three-quarters of her body fit inside. A good chunk of her legs was left to rest on the porch. She felt like Alice in Wonderland, caught in a house too small for her size. 

But that was okay. She had never been one for open horizons and long vistas. She liked crammed spaces and narrow corners and dead-ends and alleys that twisted and turned on themselves and snakes that ate their own tails. She liked cozy, stifling, grandma's-apron kind of places. She liked them all, as long as she was bigger than them. 

Gabi was disemboweling a cereal box, tearing up uneven strips of carton and laying them symmetrically on the floor. Kate saw _Tony, the Tiger_   being sawed in half. 

" _Frosted Flakes_ ," she muttered, as if addressing a particular memory.

"¿Te gusta  _Frosted Flakes_?" Gabi asked, licking one of the strips before laying it down next to her crossed knees.

"Um, sure. Si."

Gabi stuck out a strip in front of her mouth. " _Cometelo!_ "

Kate laughed. "I can't eat that."

Gabi whined. "¿Por qué no?"

"Because it's carton."

But Gabi was making such a fuss about it, that in the end, Kate took it and popped it in her mouth. She chewed the sticky tasteless cardboard, turned it into gooey clay in her mouth and forced herself to swallow it down.

Gabi was very happy.

They stayed in the dollhouse for hours, Kate dozing off more than keeping awake. 

One of the maids screamed when she found them there.

"Thought you were a dead body,  _señorita_ , with your legs sticking out like that!" she mumbled, after they managed to calm her down.

 

When they played at the pool, Kate plucked up the courage to ask Gabi about her father.

"¿Y tu papá?"

The question always made little Gabi's shoulders grow stiff, even if the little girl didn't notice it herself. She seemed to dote on her father, but in an abstract manner, the way you'd talk about Santa Claus. Everyone loved Santa Claus.

"Papá es el _mejor_ , él me dio..." and she'd point at the dollhouse. He gave me, he gave me. A powerful refrain. 

"Is he coming to see you soon?" she'd ask hopefully, but Gabi would invariably shake her head and say he was too busy with work. Children don't understand "busy", or "work" for that matter. This was her mother talking.

But the Captain was a good father. He always bought the very best for his muñeca. And he made sure his muñeca knew it was from him and no one else. 

"But he must come to see you on your birthday," Kate attempted again. And this time, Gabi's face lit up with genuine excitement.

" _Si!_ _ Cómo  _ _no! Siempre viene!_ "

Kate grabbed this tiny sliver of information and did not let it go. "That's great. When is your birthday? And how long does your dad stay?"

 

Her luck was on an upward trajectory. Gabriela's birthday was just a month away. She would make sure she was invited. She knew Gabi was fond of her by now, and would cry real tears if she was not allowed to have "Kati" over. In a month, she would meet the Captain of the Chihuahua base. 

She only felt a little bit ashamed. She wasn't using Gabi. They were using each other.

Her stomach hurt from eating so much cardboard. 

 

Alejandro noticed, of course, that she was still stalking the kid. Or "babysitting", as she put it. 

Kate didn't know if her disobedience pleased him or not. Sometimes it felt like it did. 

One morning, as she was getting ready to leave for her "play date", he came into the living room and dropped a coloring book on the couch. 

Kate picked it up warily. The cover was a clumsy but charming drawing of a wild jungle. The title "Color Me! Rain Forests Forever!" made her feel old and perverse. Here she was, in the heart of the cartel, playing with a child, acting like a child.

She lifted her chin. "Uh. She's a little old for this."

Alejandro smiled a rare and rueful smile. "It's for you, actually."

Kate made a face. It was not very convincing. She still felt hollow and pathetic from the night he made her pose in lingerie. At least in Gabi's dollhouse, she was an object whose value never changed. Here, her anger felt like a joke. 

He put a warm and callused hand on her shoulder. "Be careful, Kate. Just be careful, for your sake. And mine."

"And _yours_? Why -"

"Because if the kid does something to you, I'll be the one cleaning up the mess."

Kate was smart enough to know he didn't mean Gabi herself, but rather the ghost of her parents. If the Captain or Catalina did anything...

And suddenly, an idea was born. 

No, not just an idea. A plan.  A wicked little plan, a plan as small and perfect as a dollhouse.

She realized what she needed to do. 

She touched Alejandro's hand, where it was still holding her shoulder. "You've got nothing to worry about. I'll be good."

He dropped his hand quickly.

 

 

But would she have the courage to go through with it? 

 

 

 

She spent all day thinking about it. The coloring book was a useful gift. Gabi ignored her and colored the insides of a palm tree with relish. She'd only sometimes ask Kate if it was pretty. Kate said it was pretty. But inside, the plan was germinating, gestating. 

 

 

Later that evening, she returned to find Alejandro taking a shower in the bathroom. She knew it was him just by the way the water hit the floor. His presence, his very _mass,_  had a texture that was recognizable by default. She knew that if she opened that door, she'd find him leaning against the cool tiles. 

She pressed the palm of her hand on the bathroom door. She felt a hateful fondness for this man, this man who would, unwittingly, help her give birth to this wicked dollhouse, this plan that would shatter and break everything apart. 

She wondered how badly he'd break himself just to clean up her mess. 

She wondered how badly he needed to love ghosts. 

He had taken her body and turned it inside out, but he had never touched her, not really. Thank God. Or not. 

She removed her hand from the door.

And turned the knob. 

If the plan was going to work, she needed to hide her hatred, lock it in a little chamber in her heart, only let it come out at the right time. She would feast on his surprise. She would drink up his regrets.

He had told her revenge was about covering your want. 

She went inside the bathroom. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, if you're wondering about Kate's plan, it will slowly be revealed to you in future chapters. And yes, the next chapter will be on the more, ahem, physical side. Thanks for all your encouragement!


	9. Chapter 9

 

The steam was abundant. It choked and smothered all shape and figure, because it was meant to efface.

You must lose yourself in the water, you must go back to the womb which is darkness made liquid.

Alejandro had lowered his head under the downpour. From this position, she could kill him. Not practically, not _really_. But she could envision his body collapsing regally on the floor. The perfect picture of the fallen villain.

Caught dead in his shower. How poetic. 

Her feet barely squeaked on the tiles as she approached him, already sweating underneath her clothes.

It was an enchanted reversal of their previous meeting under water.

She got close enough to him that she could see the spatter of freckles on the peaks of his shoulder blades. She reached out with her fingers, open like scissors. Her hand did not tremble, but she barely touched him and then –

“Kate.”

His voice came up for air, a solid warning amidst the steam.

She knew he had felt her before she had touched him, but he had given her time to retreat.

This time, she put her hand firmly on his back, splaying her sharp fingers against his skin.

“Kate,” he repeated starkly. “What are you doing?”

Kate felt the wetness of his body and the strangling dampness which latched around her throat and in her hair.

“I… I don’t know, I wanted to see you naked,” she mumbled, keeping her voice soft, uncertain. She had to make him believe that this was random. A secret, irrational desire.

“Why?”

“I was curious, if you…if you looked any different,” she said, feeling the words like pebbles on her lips. Like she was spitting stone. 

“This is not nakedness,” he replied thickly, running a hand through his hair and letting the rivulets trickle between his fingers.

Still with his back to her.

 _No_ , she agreed. _It’s not nakedness_. Alejandro could be disemboweled right before his eyes and he would still be a remote creature on a faraway horizon.

The frustration of his enigma cut through her teeth. She wanted to bite him. Like a baby whose teeth are growing, she wanted to dull the pain.

She leaned forward and pressed her clothed body against his back. She rested her cheek on his shoulder blades. And she wrapped her arms around his waist.

The water seeped through her clothes.

She closed her eyes tight.

She could feel his diaphragm dilating and contracting under her hands, his breath neither short nor expansive, but rather, an unfurled tension.

She couldn’t feel his heartbeat, but she heard other sounds through his bare skin. She heard hammers and birds and the laughter of little children.

She hugged him tight.

She realized this was devoid of sex. But this was the only way for Alejandro to access her body. She had to pretend to be his daughter, first and foremost.

 

 

How fucked up was that?

How fucked up was that?

_How fucked up was that?_

 

 

“Kate. This isn’t what you want.”

She didn’t let go. She squeezed harder, keeping her eyes shut against his back. She would embrace him until he begged for mercy.

“Don’t tell me what I want,” she murmured. “I want to hold you. Like family.”

“Stop it,” he said, after a long pause. His voice was muffled by water.

“Who else do I have left?” she whispered with half-shed tears in her eyes, fake and real, at the same time.

He turned off the shower. He put a hand to his waist. He placed it on top of her small fingers, tried to pry them free.

“Who else do _you_ have left?” she asked, and her lips brushed his spine softly.

Alejandro’s hands froze. He did not try to wrestle out of her grasp. He did not lean into it. He waited.

“Kate. You are making a fool of yourself,” he said, at length. The steam was dissipating.

His words were colored with his knowledge. _I know what you’re trying to do_ , they seemed to say. _And you won’t succeed._

Kate bit her lip. It was easier in the movies.  A few well-chosen words here, a couple of loving touches there and you owned him. Sentimental glory.

Fall into each other’s arms and kiss against the painted sunset. The credits roll against a black screen. 

How was she supposed to move him?

She tried to picture his daughter, as if she hadn’t died.  She’d be older now. Maybe a teenager. Perhaps a dreamy-eyed girl, who might guess what her father was up to, but would be too afraid to ask.

She pictured this young girl trying to love him and only finding a solid wall. She pictured this girl screaming at Alejandro, calling him names, calling him _old_ and _stupid_ , hating him for being hopelessly behind the times, for being a relic of bygone violent days.

Maybe….maybe her death had been a blessing. This way Alejandro could never disappoint her.

She thought of little Gabi, still young enough to see her degenerate father as a hero. But how long would that last?

How long until Gabi hated her father too?

Kate’s voice trembled with real emotion when she spoke. “Don’t disappoint me. Don’t be like all the rest of the fathers and men.”

Alejandro heaved a weary sigh from the core of his being. Maybe she was asking too much, but she had always been demanding. Even as a child. Her mother said she wouldn't take no. 

Kate imagined that his daughter wouldn't take no either. 

“Let me know you. Like she never did,” she continued, pressing a soft kiss to his back. _Like she never will._

And then, she released him.

She removed her arms from his waist and took a step back.

This was the most she could do, the most she could give before she forgot why she was doing it.

If he did not respond, she would think of another way. She might not even need his hands on her, after all.

She waited for him to turn around.

When he didn’t, she lowered her eyes and made for the door, rankled and ashamed of her failure.

On her third step, a hand came up behind her. Like an arrow finding its target. He sank his fingers in her hair and pulled her head up. Her neck, like a swan’s neck, craned towards the ceiling. Her eyes landed on white squares.

He had moved so quietly. She did not even breathe.

She saw dark spots on the edge of her sight as his lips spoke into her throat.

“Do you really want to know me?”

She parted her lips. “Yes.”

 

 

 _“Desnuda, eres tan simple como una de tus manos…”_ he recited slowly as he carried her by the hair into the bedroom.

 _“Lisa, terrestre, mínima, redonda, transparente…”_ he continued, as he let her fall on the bed with a small thud.  

She did not understand him. He was speaking from another world. He undressed her like a doctor, without sensuality or added tenderness.

 _“Tienes líneas de luna, caminos de manzana,”_ he said as he ran a warm, but spectral hand from her throat down to her exposed belly. Kate’s heart convulsed painfully and her body twitched. No one had ever touched her like this, like death come to collect. She felt his fingers press down on her windpipe with no hint of menace. He paused next between her breasts, tapping the sternum with his knuckle, as if checking for an emptiness inside, and then he sloped down to her womb, and kneaded it with the strange calm of a butcher. She was like a pound of meat, but no, not impersonal. She was a pound of meat that he had salvaged from a wreckage.

He palmed her breasts in the same forbidding manner, distilling her womanhood between his hands. Nothing about this was sexual, but _everything_ was.

The perfect daughter and the perfect wife, trapped between his hands.

 _“Desnuda, eres delgada como el trigo desnudo,”_ he rasped, and dipped down between her legs, tickling her thighs. She spread easily, allowing him access. He ran his fingers down her slit with an avuncular touch which made her shudder. She did not feel pleasure, she felt a heady combination of danger and trust. She did not know _how_ it was possible to trust him. But her body did. He raised the same fingers to her lips, not for her to taste herself, but to unite her cunt with her innocence.

Kate wanted to cry. This was not love or sex or rape, or anything in between. This was _knowing_. Like he’d said.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asked testily. There was almost sadness in his voice.

She looked up at him.

The bastard. The cruel fucker. He wouldn’t accept theater. He wouldn't accept performance.  She had to _feel_   like his daughter.  She had to _feel_   like his wife. She had to feel shot and dead and buried in memory. She had to feel resurrected. She wasn’t allowed to fake any of it.

She raised her arms with a sob. “Come home.”

 

It was the first time his eyes said something to her. Those shuttered windows opened for a luminous second. They regarded her for once, not like every other tragedy and tedium in his life, but like a dream he had stopped dreaming. A hunger for all things good and free.

A hunger which beckoned him down into her arms and drowned her.

When his mouth descended upon her lips, it stopped a few breaths away from her, as if it was inhaling her essence. And then he kissed her ravenously, with pauses and gulps for air, because only a truly desperate embrace is fractured. The lovers who are safe in their love can stay attached for hours and need no oxygen.  The ones who are corrupted from within, they require much _more_. They kiss not only the person, but the air around them, the very atmosphere. So they dance with interruptions, their skins meeting and _unmeeting_ , so the next contact is even more potent. 

His hands broke and cracked her flesh, molding the epidermis; it almost looked like he was fumbling, but he was gathering all the particles that flew away from her, making sure none escaped. And so she felt his touches sporadically, maddening in their intensity and in their fragmentation.

His tongue darted in and out of her mouth like a shadow, never invading, never possessing, always eating hungrily, but with the knowledge that nourishment was forbidden. Kate was distracted with ecstasy. She had never experienced this kind of splitting contact, incoherent and completely unhinged. He was never really there, yet he was everywhere. His skin chafed against hers, his texture like rough sand. He lowered his head in the hollow of her neck and bit down on the jugular until she sang. He seemed to want to extract the blood and drink it for safekeeping. His tongue drew spirals around her nipples while his fingers dived in a splintered sequence in and out of her, pinching her clit with the practice of tortures, but never truly letting her feel any violence. She cried out in staccato, _because what was torture without violence_? It was incomplete. Always in short bursts, raptured. Touch – no touch – tongue – no tongue – Alejandro – Alejandro – _Alejandro_ –

The third time it was she who spoke his name as he entered her and placed a warm kiss on her chin, and their foreheads met somewhere in the middle as he rocked into her, his hands squeezing her hips, knocking her bones into his pelvis, making sure none of her was separate and that she felt every thrust. It was, in some way, a violation of each other, committed in tandem –

(" _fuck, fuck, fuck...._ " they whispered together)

–because he was fucking the empty grave where he had not been able to bury them. He had turned his back on them and he was now digging up a new grave, a hole which would hide the new weakness, the new obsession, the new child and woman he would die for, the new piece of heaven who was now tugging at his hair, moaning incoherently against his lips, making him want to fuck her insides too, the vocal cords through which sounds were born.

Every infiltration brought them closer, breaths mingling, foreheads touching, eyes closed, bodies twisted in the most criminal pleasure – and at the last moment he flipped them over until she was on top of him and her soft brown hair and deep-blue eyes gazed down on him, and he remembered falling in negative love with that honest face the very first time he had seen it. It had been like reaching up and wrenching the sky. 

He remembered, and the crushing need flew through his lips as he uttered her name.

( _K...a....t....e...._ )

She slammed her head against his chest as they both chased their release. He sank his fingers in her hair, just like in the beginning, and she could see white.

 

 

_Naked, you are simple as one of your hands,_   
_Smooth, earthy, small, transparent, round:_   
_You have moon-lines, apple-pathways:_   
_Naked, you are slender as a naked grain of wheat._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The verses which Alejandro recites and which I included below are from Pablo Neruda's 27th Sonnet. I hope you enjoyed this visceral chapter (it felt visceral to me anyway). Thank you for your kudos and comments!

**Author's Note:**

> I really wanted to write a Kate/Alejandro story ever since I watched Sicario weeks ago, so here I am (shoutout to "El Diablo" for inspiring me)


End file.
